


And just like that, she was down

by solarbird



Series: the manic pixie murder machine [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Conditioning, Developing Relationship, F/F, Freelance Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mind Manipulation, Post-Alive (Overwatch), Post-Fall of Overwatch, Post-Talon Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, following the manic pixie murder machine back to her home dimension, gingerspider, i need a third AU like i need another hole in my head, manic pixie murder machine, why did this single-chapter short story turn feral
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-01-07 17:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12237294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarbird/pseuds/solarbird
Summary: Lena "Tracer" Oxton gave up on Widowmaker, but somewhere underneath it all knew that wasn't the right thing to do - so much so that she and her wife Emily "Kestrel" Oxton (originally fromit is not easy to explain, she said) punched a hole across spacetime to find a universe where things had, in the end, worked out - coming across Lena "Venom" Oxton and Amélie "Widowmaker" Lacrox of Talon, fromon overcoming the fear of spiders.But really, all you need to know is that Lena and Emily are both with Overwatch, and are taking one more shot at pulling Widowmaker out of Talon's clutches - even if doing so requires some dangerous sacrifices.Hesitant to read this? Find out more about the story here.





	1. three minutes and forty-five seconds

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third time I've visited this Lena and this Emily so _apparently it has to be a series now_. Thanks, brain.
> 
> It's also probably the most canon-compliant Widowmaker I've written, at least, as of November 2017, when I wrote Chapter 1.

And just like that, she was down.

Widowmaker fell, panting, crouched, trapped between air conditioners and rooftop access, Kestrel overhead, Tracer in front, rifle damaged but regenerating, chain broken but rebuilding, and entirely out of venom mines.

Nowhere to go. _45 seconds_ , she thought, glancing up, glancing ahead. _45 seconds to replenished ammo_ , she thought, watching Tracer, with her gold eyes burning. _45 seconds. They can't take me in, not in 45 seconds._

"Hey, love," said the smaller Overwatch agent in front of her, the annoying one, the one who kept getting under her skin, no matter what she did, no matter how infuriating she became. "Truce?"

_...what?_ thought the spider, and she blinked.

Tracer lowered her pistols, well aware that the Talon assassin could still punch like a prizefighter. "Truce? Three minutes. I know you've got another 40 seconds or so 'till you have rounds again, I'm askin' for three minutes' time. Truce?"

Widow glanced up towards the flying agent, who saw her look, and in response, nodded back down to the assassin. "Truce," Kestrel said. "Three minutes."

_I... what? Truce? What? They have me, and... what have I got to lose?_ the assassin decided quickly, not lowering her weapon. "Why? So you can take me in to be undone, _cherie?_ I think not."

_She spoke!_ thought Tracer, her already-rapid heart jumping just a little bit more. _She **spoke.**_ "No! Not that, love," she exclaimed. "It's so I can apologise. Apologise proper, and all that. I'm _sorry_. I just want to say why."

Widowmaker... hesitated. Surprised, not in the combat way, but in the cognitive dissonance way, and she shook her head and failed to clear it, stuck on the idea of being apologised to, and overrode her reaction, sure she must've heard wrong, and tried again. "Three minutes, so your friends can close in, and..." 

"I promise, _no_ , that's _not_ what we're doin'." Tracer pulled her earbud and thumbed her comm. "McCree, Tracer here. No sign of Widowmaker. Sweeping north for further recon." She received a brief "I hear ya" from McCree, and Widowmaker could hear it too, just, from the tiny exposed speaker. 

Thirty seconds to bullets. Thirty seconds to possible escape. _Or, three minutes to... what?_ She narrowed her eyes, but lowered her weapon. "Truce." she said. "Three minutes." 

"I'm sorry," said Tracer, again. "I've been doin' everything wrong for three years and I am _so sorry_." 

Widowmaker felt confusion, and again, not the uncertainty of battle, but an unfamiliar emotional reaction she did not want to admit she felt. "Pour quoi? We fight, it is what we are for. And you have hardly ever managed to hurt me." 

"I think I have, though," replied the teleporter, earnestness clear in her voice. "Emotionally. Not on purpose, I swear. I talked to some..." - she nodded her head back and forth - "...can't say friends, can't say enemies, it's complicated, they're kind of Talon, they're kind of not... 'bout a month ago, and they set me straight about you. And about what I've been doin' wrong." 

_Mystifying_ , thought the assassin, but she mimed a bemused look. "Are you talking about the hacker? Are you and the Mexican woman talking about _me?_ My controllers _will_ be interested to know _that_." 

"No," the Englishwoman shook her head. "Not Sombra. It's... look, it's nobody in _your_ Talon. It's complicated and three minutes ain't long enough. But that's not important! What's important is I got shook up, but good. An' I realised I've been tryin' to get to Amélie, and trying to tell her we'd get her back, and I've been an bloomin' idiot because I've not been tryin' to talk to _you_." 

Widowmaker snorted - _this is nonsense_ , she thought, but something scratched at her, something in her head saying _this is important_ \- and flipped her rifle onto her shoulder. "I seem to remember a large number of rather one-sided conversations, myself. Even more, including the ones spoken only with bullets." 

"Not what I mean. I've been..." she grimaced. _C'mon, Lena_ , she thought, _you've been practicing this, don't let's throw a spanner in these works._ "You're real. I finally get it. _You're_ a person, not some ... construct. And I've been promising we'd change you into somebody else, just like Talon did to Amélie, and that's _wrong_ , and I'm _sorry_ , and it's gonna _stop_ , starting _now_." 

Widowmaker tilted her head, dismayed, as she picked through what she was hearing. _Is... **that**... why...?_ she thought, but did not know what to say. 

"I've seen you, you talk about how emotions are my weakness, and you say you don't have any, but you _do_ , it's obvious, even if you don't like it, and I've been takin' that as Amélie peekin' out, but it's _not_ , it's _you_ , it's _just_ you, and I'm sorry for... for everything." 

"What..." the assassin managed, feeling strangely light, strangely separate from her place on the rooftop, surrounded by her enemies. "...what is the point of this?" 

"She'd given up on you," came Kestrel's voice, from above. _Two minutes_ , she thought. "But I hadn't." 

"...you?" the assassin looked up. "I do not even know you. You are not a priority target." 

"I know," said the flying agent. "But my wife's into you, if it isn't obvious, and - cards on the table - I kinda am too. Giving up made her all depressed, so... here we are." 

"Kestrel!" shouted Tracer. "C'mon, I'm not on the pull, that's not why..." 

"It is so," retorted Kestrel, "underneath everything." 

"...it _is_ so, isn't it?" The Widowmaker smirked, grasping at a little more control of a decidedly out of control situation. "You are trying to, you say, chat me up? Pathetic. We are enemies, and that is all, and you are a fool to think otherwise." 

"Oh no," said the teleporter, "Don't pretend this don't go both ways." 

"It does not," sneered the assassin. "I am not burdened with such trivialities." 

"Oh yeah?" asked Tracer. 

"Yes," said Widowmaker. 

"If that's true - you've had bullets again for 45 seconds. I don't even got my pistols out, and here I am, all not shot up. Why not?" 

_What?!_ thought the assassin, knowing her opponent was right. She hadn't even lost track of time, she just hadn't acted, and she could've. She _should've_. She grasped for a reason, and settled on, "...we have a truce." 

"Okay, maybe. This time. But why ain't I dead? You fought anybody else who lived this long?" 

"No," admitted Talon's most effective killer. "But it is not for lack of trying." 

"Don't underestimate yourself, love. You've had your chances, I'm number one on Talon's hit list, and you ain't even been takin' the shots, even though I've been promising to take your mind apart and not even knowin' I was doin' it. It's more than I deserve. Thanks, for that." 

Widowmaker raised her rifle, Tracer in her sight. "Should I fix it, then? Right now?" 

Kestrel froze, gravity blade ready. But Tracer did not raise her pistols, or grin, or dodge, or dance. She held her ground, being very still. "Y'could, y'know. G'wan. I'm right here." 

Widowmaker stood, looking through the site, the shot unmissable, time counting away. _Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._ And, again, confusedly, she lowered her rifle. She couldn't even say why, other than it did not seem... right, to shoot. "70 seconds," she said, softly, almost distractedly, her focus disturbed, disrupted. _What is wrong with me?_

"Look," said Tracer, "I'm not gonna try to bring you in, not now, maybe not even later. I'll stop ya if I see ya at work, but... c'mon. Y'gotta admit, Talon's no good. Maybe Talon made you, and maybe I'll even give 'em that, but on the whole, they're no good." 

From above, Kestrel quietly noted that Widowmaker did not bother trying to defend her makers, or even dismiss the attack. She'd just accepted it as a given. _Halfway there,_ she thought to herself. _C'mon, blue girl, show me. Show me you're real._

"From now on," continued Tracer, "I'm promising: no changin' you. No tryin' to turn you into somebody else, not even somebody you maybe used t'be. But if you want out - if _you_ want out, _as_ you - tell me. We'll find a way. And if Overwatch _does_ catch you, somehow, if we bring you in, I will _not_ let them change you against your will." 

The woman built from Amélie Lacroix raised an eyebrow, sceptically. "No one in Overwatch would tolerate my existence. _None_ of you..." - _no_ , she thought, _I don't believe that, do I?_ \- "...present... company... _perhaps_ excepted." 

"I mean it, love," Lena said, as plainly and honestly as she knew how. "I swear. Even if I have to break you out of a Watchpoint myself, they won't change you. It won't happen. I won't let it." 

Widowmaker believed her. Something inside her believed Lena's oath, believed every word of it, _knew_ it to be true, and the spider dropped her rifle in shock. "I... I do not believe you," she lied, a hitch in her breath betraying her. 

"I think maybe you do," said Kestrel, gently, "even if you don't want to." _Oh fuck me, what am I about to say here?_ she thought, swallowing. "Lena's promise goes for me, too. I'm no Pharah - but I'll provide the air support. We'll get you out." _C'mon, c'mon, be real..._

Oxton nodded, looking up gratefully at her lover. _In for a penny._ "I'm not sayin' come with us now, love, I know that's not gonna happen. But if you want out..." started Tracer... 

"...we'll get you out. And not to Overwatch," continued Kestrel... 

"...unless that's what y'want," finished Tracer. 

Widowmaker picked up her rifle. _Twenty seconds_ , she thought, absently. 

"Have they ever reconditioned you again, love? After the first time?" 

The assassin frowned. "They did... once, after..." She did not finish the sentence. 

"Tekhartha?" 

"Yes," she nodded. "Because I laughed." 

"Did y'like it?" asked the teleporter. 

"...no," admitted the assassin, after a pause, resentment in her voice, and above her, Kestrel silently cheered, clenching her firsts, _Yes!_

"We wouldn't try," repeated Tracer. "I get it now. I swear." 

"Never," said the flying agent. "We both swear," she said, in for a pound. 

Widowmaker looked down at her Kiss, ready, pulse rounds fully charged and ready to go. Enough chain regeneration to get away, as well - _three minutes is a lot of time, if you think about it, isn't it?_ Talon, signalling, in her headset, trying to raise her, trying to make sure she was alive and, if not well, at least functional. _This could all be a new lie_ , she thought, warring against herself. _But... it also might not be._

After Tekhartha, she'd learned now not to tip off her controllers. It wasn't the only thing they'd missed. 

"Your three minutes are up," she said. "And I do not trust _your_ masters, either." She threw her rifle onto her back, looked up at Kestrel, over at Tracer, and leapt up into the air, but not far, chain assisted to a nearby perch. "But your offer... a third way, all of us free from Overwatch as well as Talon..." she called, as her chain rewound, and she threw it again. "...I will consider it." And she vanished into the night. 

Kestrel flew down to Tracer, eyes wide, after the assassin disappeared into the darkness. "I... I think we might've done it." 

Tracer nodded her head, half in shock, but entirely in agreement. "I'm gobsmacked, love - I think we really might've. But... I... it can't be that easy." 

"It wouldn't be," her wife agreed. "We made some hard promises. We'd likely have to quit Overwatch ourselves. Become freelancers, maybe." 

Tracer shrugged, thinking of the many possibilities - and difficulties - involved. "Winston wouldn't throw us out, love - it's not like any of it's legal anyway. And even if he does, there's good money to be made in adventuring, I should know." She started shaking, as it all sank in. "Gor blimey, Em. What'd we just do?" 

"Threw away our careers?" Emily giggled, weakly. "And maybe... just maybe... started saving some lives, too?" 

Lena's half-grin popped back onto her face. "One life in particular, y'mean?" 

"Yes," her lover confirmed with a grin of her own. "In particular. But also her targets." 

"Hoo," breathed the teleporter, shaking tension out of her arms, out of her hands. "It's a big gamble. Long odds. We must be starkers." 

"Better odds than we had a month ago." 

Tracer snorted. "No question about that." 

"None." Her lover put her arms around her, and kissed her nose, gently. "C'mon, sweetie, finish shaking it off. Risk is what we do, isn't it?" 

Lena let out a little 'heh' sound, and rested her forehead against Emily's. 

"And put your earbud back in," said the ginger. "McCree's getting curious about our sweep." 

"Righto." She puffed out a big breath of air. "We've made this bed, might as well lie in it. North it is!" She keyed her comms. "McCree, Tracer here, your signal got week, you say somethin'? ... Yeah, we're still sweeping north. No sign of her yet - I think she's gone home. ... Right. We'll keep looking a bit more, then circle back in a few. Tracer out." 

From closer than either of them imagined, the Widowmaker listened intently, laser microphone bouncing off the HVAC's metal shell. The part of her - and it was part of _her_ \- that had believed Lena Oxton implicitly sat proud, vindicated, and a little smugly in her mind. And the parts that did not... 

...began, most reluctantly... 

...to contemplate hope. 


	2. I sure hope you remember me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[Well, I **thought** this was a single piece story...]_

_[Two months later. Watchpoint Gibraltar.]_

With a tooth-shatteringly loud screech, the outer wall of the medical bay peeled away and fell towards the ocean, just as Dr. Ziegler's nurse assistants finished prepping the Widowmaker's first treatment.

"Sorry, luv," Tracer shouted, appearing in the void, one pistol aimed straight at the doctor, as the ringing, clanging metal fell, its sounds fading in the distance. "Can't let y'do that. We made a promise. Back off."

"Lena," said Angela, half-deafened, clinging to her composure, thinking, _this shouldn't be happening_ , but backing away carefully towards her staff. "You lost this argument. I know how you feel about what's going on, but it's better than a death sentence. Do not do this."

"Can't not. I keep my promises, you know that." She fired a shot over the doctor's shoulder. "And stop moving towards your staff. Can't have that, either. What's she on?"

"A twilight sleep sedative, voluntary muscle paralysis, and saline I.V., that's all. We wanted her partially responsive and were about to administer the first dose of treatment. Lena, you do not know what you're doing, this is _not_ a..."

"Stow it. I know she didn't consent and I know this ain't right." Tracer glanced at the closer nurse assistant. "Pull her off the drip. Right now." The assistant looked nervously at Dr. Ziegler, and Tracer decided to make it less optional by shooting the saline unit with her other pistol. "I said now, luv," and the nurse moved to work.

"She _can't_ consent," said the combat medic. "She will murder you in your sleep, and that's if you are very, very lucky."

Kestrel swooped in, a wary eye still attentive to the skies outside. "What's the hold up? We don't have time for chats."

"I have this under control, can you get her up off the table?"

Kestrel waved her gravity blade at the nurse assistant - Odion, she thought - who moved away quite rapidly. Stepping forward, she snapped her fingers in front of Widowmaker's half-closed eyes, and saw those eyes track her fingers, just a little - somebody was in there. "Widowmaker, I'm Kestrel, I sure hope you remember me, we're getting you out of here, just like we said we would, back in London." She pulled the blue woman off the scanning bed, and onto her back. "Let's go, while we still can."

"Emily," warned the doctor, as the flying agent carried the Talon assassin towards the light transport hovering outside, "reconsider. You can't come back from this."

The flying agent paused at the gap, and nodded grimly in return, watching as Tracer backed slowly towards her, one pistol still aimed at the doctor, the other at the two assistants. "Neither can you."

 _Buggery hell, this isn't how I wanted this to go_ , thought Lena. "Sorry, doc. Just how it has to be, I guess."

The flyer's loading door closed in front of her as she stepped onto the main deck. She could see Angela diving for the alarms before it sealed, and teleported to the pilot's seat as Kestrel got Widowmaker into the crash couch. "CLEAR!" the flying agent shouted, bracing herself for evac - and Tracer lit the engines up bright.

\-----

Widowmaker opened her eyes, but not too much, examining the ceiling. _Another Overwatch transport_ , she thought. _Not the same one back from Egypt. Smaller. I am no longer at Gibraltar. How long have I been unconscious?_ Other than a deep legsrthy, she did not feel different - but then, how would she know? She compared her thoughts, and how they felt, to memories of previous thoughts, and how they felt, and they seemed very much the same, very much unlike Amélie's, her only other reference. It would have to do, for now.

She struggled with half-aware half-memories of being in a... medical unit? And being prepped for something. And voices, some unfamiliar, some... not.

"We've lost the last of 'em," she heard Tracer say. Tracer, who had not been in Egypt, who had not been at Gibraltar... or had she been, at the end? "I'm gonna keep us in the soup, but it should be smooth enough 'till we change ships at Iwik."

_Change ships? Iwik? Why would they need to..._

"I'm going to check on Widowmaker." Another voice, the flying one, Kestrel, who had also been missing when she'd been taken, taken again, this time, by Overwatch, no doubt to be _remade_ yet _again_ , if not just killed, but whose voice she knew...

"Widowmaker, can you hear me?" The assassin heard the voice, but could not see its source - _keeping some distance, perhaps_. She let herself smirk, internally. Even sedated, she invoked fear. Good. "You're safe, and you're unchanged. We kept our promise. We broke you out before Ziegler could do anything. You're _safe_."

 _What?!_ The assassin's eyes popped open, all the way open, all at once acutely aware of her situation, before her mind snapped back to promises made some weeks ago in London, promises she did not want to believe, but couldn't quite not. Then Kestrel's face appeared over her, and she was talking, saying, "Hi. We've kept our word. Do you remember being captured in Egypt? We got you out of the Watchpoint. You're safe. Well, as safe as any of us are, now - we're all in _real_ trouble, but since when's that new?"

The words confused her, memory of promises or not. _Is it a... no, it makes no sense, this cannot be a trap, they already have me, why would they..._ She did her best to move, but her arms, so heavy, why...

"Oh," Kestrel breathed, "you're definitely awake now, aren't you? Probably a little panicky, too. I'm sorry, it's the muscle relaxant. They had you pretty well sedated before we reached you, but that's all, as far as we know - they were still prepping the first course of reconditioning meds when I ripped the medbay's walls open."

Widowmaker's eyes locked on Kestrel's, and she shivered, an involuntary action, and the flying agent saw it, and reached to touch, to comfort - but thought better of it. "I... wish I knew whether you found touch comforting."

 _I wish I did too_ , thought the spider, a little dismayed by her own reactions as they span round and round in her head. _You... kept... your... you... kept your... you kept your... you..._

"We've just got away from pursuit craft, and we're heading towards a little nature reserve in Mauritania, where we'll be swapping ships."

"... _ah_..." Widowmaker managed, and she remained locked on Kestrel, Kestrel, who she barely knew, Kestrel, who'd kept her word, Kestrel, who had... saved... her...

"You're tearing up a bit, can you blink for... oh, good, there y'go. Can you follow my fingers with your eyes?" Widowmaker looked at the Kestrel's fingertips and watched them trace a rectangle, slowly, around her field of vision. They were strong hands, solid, a little square, chunky, much like the rest of the hawk. Strong, and unexpectedly beautiful. _Well, I suppose I know who is more butch in their arrangement_ , she thought, and a "heh" popped out, to as much her surprise as Kestrel's.

"She just laugh?" she heard Tracer say from outside her field of vision. "Hey, luv, you just laugh a little?"

"I think she did, yeah."

"Well, tell her after this, we're headed towards... oh, bugger..."

"What?"

"It's official. Bulletin just went out. We're listed."

"Surprised it took this long. Can they shut down the transport?"

"Nah, I changed the codes and blew the interlock, we'll be fine."

Widowmaker grimaced. Intentionally. And it worked. She tried moving her mouth, and managed, focus back on Kestrel's face, "...liffsted?"

Kestrel sighed, and sat, next to Widow's bunk, leaning close. "Word's gone out. Our personal IFF codes have been invalidated. Overwatch may be illegal, but we had a few privileges within it to revoke... we're now 'foe', not 'friend'."

"Ah." said the blue assassin. Slowly, carefully, she looked into Kestrel's eyes, and whispered, "Je... regrette."

"Don't," replied the hawk. "If Overwatch is gonna start doing things like this, I can't be a part of it anymore anyway."

"And just so y'know," called Tracer, "Talon put a termination order out on your head once Overwatch got y'to Gibraltar. No goin' back there, either."

"...how?"

"Friend of yours let us know. We'll be seein' her in a bit."

"...big mouth...?"

Tracer laughed. "Yeah, she said you called her that."

The spider tested her arms. A little movement at the shoulder, not much yet. But fingers - yes, those, those were free. She tapped at the bed, experimentally, and saw Kestrel smile when she noticed, bright like cloudbreak. "It is, then..." managed the spider, "...us, against the world?" She tried her wrists. Yes. Wrists. More quickly, now. Almost to the elbow.

 _Us_ , Kestrel thought. _Already?_ "Sounds like."

A louder heh, and the spider found she could move her head. "Then... a challenge. Good." She gave Kestrel a fierce look; it excited the flying agent in ways she did not expect, as did the spider unexpectedly - if weakly - taking her hand in her own. "We will destroy them both, cherie," the assassin said, with utter conviction. "We _cannot_ lose."

\-----

"As far as she knew," said the Swiss doctor, some hours later, "it was just sedation." Power had not yet been restored to the medbay, but the wall had, at least, been braced and covered, and structural stability insured. She sat at a small table in medbay's small consultation room.

"So you told her nothing about the enhanced receptivity effects?" asked the hirsute scientist sitting opposite and to her right, snacking on his favourite peanut butter, with oatmeal cookies and lactose-free milk. Hoisting girders about - that was heavy labour. He deserved a treat.

"Of course not," said the doctor, sipping her coffee. "But I didn't lie, we hadn't undone anything Talon did - and it really was a sedative, just one that leaves patients a little more..." she waved one hand back and forth, "...open to ideas, while under its influence. It would've helped with our treatments of her, helped her return to who she really was."

"Nicely played," said Jack Morrison, nursing a judicious amount of Tennessee bourbon. "Hope this doesn't come back to bite us on the ass any more than it already has."

Dr. Ziegler smiled warmly at her old friend, sitting opposite and to her left. "I'd suspected Lena might do something she'd come to regret. I'd hoped she wouldn't, or if she did, I'd hoped I could talk her down. But if push came to shove... she might as well have that thin chance." She shuddered. "I think she has made a grave mistake. I do not think that... construct... is a person or can be reformed, and I wasn't lying about being killed in her sleep, either."

"You did what you could," said the soldier. He put down his glass and rubbed at his eyes. "She's always been impulsive, but this is another level. If they come at us... we'll have to assume the worst. They might as well be Talon." He put the drink down, and rubbed his eyes.

"That will not be difficult," smirked Angela. "I am quite angry, both about being held at gunpoint, and at losing my best chance to recover Amélie. And Kestrel," the doctor snorted, "she made a strongly negative impression on Gina and Odion. Gossip will insure everyone knows."

"I _know_ their hearts are in the right place," Winston insisted. "Particularly Lena's. I think they're both being extremely foolish - but do not doubt their hearts."

"Just their judgements. And maybe their sanity," said the soldier.

The three sat quietly, for some moments, letting what happened today finally settle in as the sun went down. Morrison, thinking maybe they should've just handed the Widowmaker over to legal authorities; Winston, wishing he'd found a middle way, something to keep everyone happy, while knowing no such path existed; and Ziegler, angry, but still afraid for the two women who had, to her mind, made such a terrible mistake.

"To absent friends," Winston lifted his glass of water. "May they not become present enemies."

"I'll drink to that," said Morrison, raising the last of his bourbon.

Angela lifted her coffee cup, touching it against her friends' drinks. "To absent friends," she echoed. _May they not be dead come morning_.


	3. do not make me confess it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Thoughts in «chevron quotes» are translated from the Spanish, if Sombra's, or French, if Widowmaker's.]

Sombra waited with her locator beacon, watching, scanning the pre-dawn dark skies in the mountains on the outskirts of Castillo. Cached nearby, hidden, the critical combinations of medications needed to keep Widowmaker healthy, and instructions on how to synthesise more. She just wished they'd thought to kidnap a chemist on the way out.

 _«Of course»_ , she thought, _«that assumes they actually managed to get her out in one piece...»_

Finally, she spotted a glint of light - a civilian cargo ship bearing her direction low and slow, slotted in between the mountains. _«About time.»_ She waved, unnecessarily, as the craft approached and landed on the only flat spot on the entire side of the mountain, five metres further below. She scrambled down to meet it, as its engines wound down.

"Hola, idiots," she called out, with a cheerfulness she didn't yet entirely feel. "Chica, you in there?"

The crew door opened, and Widowmaker stood in it, alone, in her usual sniper kit, but without her rifle. "I am here."

"And the twins?"

"Behind me. We decided it good for you to see me, first. I am... I believe I am unmodified. Do you have my supplies?"

 _«Straight to the chase»_ , thought the hacker. _«That's a good sign.»_

"Yeah, chica, I do - but I gotta be sure, first." She threw the EMP trigger, grounding the ship's electronics, and trained her machine gun at the door. "Tracer, Kestrel - get in sight. Don't try to take off, you're on a buried pressure plate loaded with explosives which I'll disarm as soon as I'm satisfied. Chica, I'm not taking you far, but I want you far enough away from them to know you're not bein' coerced."

"Sombra, you absolute knob cobbler, I'm gonna..." Tracer bolted towards the door at a full run, and Kestrel cursed at her reduced mobility but made her best attempt at the same. Widowmaker stopped them both at the opening, saying, "No. No. Do not. I understand what she wants."

"EMPs don't last forever - you try to betray us," shouted Kestrel, "I will launch you so far into the ground you will _never_ dig your way out!"

"Kestrel, _no_ ," said the assassin. "You both know full well I am more than capable of handling myself. I will go to her."

The flying agent all but snarled at the hacker, who smirked from behind the sights of her submachine gun. "Back away from her, both of you, got it? I've been _very_ nice so far, I'd _hate_ to have to be rude."

The Widowmaker chuckled mirthlessly. " _You_ have not changed. Very well. I will follow." She turned to her rescuers. "Tracer, Kestrel, wait here - I will remain in sight at all times, and I will return. I swear it." She looked back up at Sombra. "That is non-negotiable."

"Fine by me, chica. Get over here. You two - stay behind the doorway. No further out."

Widowmaker stepped forward, and threw her chain grapple against the exposed rock beside Sombra, winching herself higher up the hill. "Stand right there," the hacker said, before waving a scanner wand around the assassin's body. "Huh. Looks like you got all the trackers. Even the passive one in your back tattoo." She examined the little red hourglass on the spider's back. "No sign of a scar. Nice work."

"Overwatch was thorough," replied the spider, "...and, apparently, careful."

Sombra gestured left, and the two women hiked slowly further up from there, side by side, following a trail clearly visible from the landing pad, staying in sight as promised.

"Okay, chica - now, for real... how you doin'?" She kept one eye on the ship.

"I am... I believe I am whole. Did Vialli really order my execution?"

"'Fraid so."

"For one failure? For one _capture?_  " She snorted. "Fool."

Sombra shook her head. "No. For poking too hard at your conditioning. For figuring out how to limit recon."

The Widowmaker spun around, facing the purple-haired woman directly. "What?!"

The hacker nodded. "They finally put all the little pieces together. You've been declared unreclaimable - and to be retired." She gave her taller friend a sympathetic look. "You were supposed to die in Egypt, chica, not get captured. And," she let out a single laugh, "you're welcome."

"...what did you do?" she said, returning to the smaller woman's side, resuming the slow walk.

"Does it matter? You're alive."

"Alive, and in the de facto custody of two..." She shook her head. "...annoyances."

"Annoyances you haven't killed yet, I noticed."

Widowmaker glared at the hacker. "Do not presume to know my thoughts."

"Don't give me that crap, hon. I know your thoughts better than anybody outside the lab that made you. You wanted away, you'd be away." She glanced down towards the water, and the breeze coming from it. "Thought you even were, for a minute, when you showed up in the doorway alone. Thought maybe you'd killed 'em, dumped their bodies in the Atlantic."

The blue woman shook a little, and closed her eyes for just a moment, as though bracing herself. "I... we have had... a truce."

"Seems to me you have a lot more than that."

 _«Do not make me admit it»_ , thought the blue assassin, gaze tilted down.

"You're feeling something, aren't you? C'mon, chica, you know you can talk to me..."

"Isn't their survival confession enough?" she said, in a quiet voice.

"No," she said, almost kindly. "But that question, on the other hand... it kind of is."

"Thank you."

The hacker kicked a rock on the trail, forward, along the path. "You'd decided, hadn't you."

"Yes."

"How much longer were you going to wait?"

"Another week."

"So really, you're just leaving a little early."

"Yes. But in a way that has... cost them both, dearly. I am... I find myself... disappointed, by that."

Something in the assassin's voice twigged in Sombra's mind. Disappointment, she knew the Widow could feel that, and did - at failed missions, at botched raids, at missed kills. But at someone else's loss? That was new.

"Any loose ends you want me to tie up?"

"No. I was ready. The Prague assignment would've merely been convenient."

"Got your equipment?"

"We raided two caches on the way here. We will raid more, after leaving."

"Any idea where you're going after that?"

"Their plan was inadequate. I have improved it."

"Do you know my personal blind drops, just in case?"

"A few."

"Good. Well, that covers just about everything... and here we are," said the hacker, looking down at a large rock next to the trail.

"This is a rock."

"C'mon, chica." She brought up her control system, cleared the lock, and flipped the cover over with her toe. "You know better."

"Of course - I just wanted to give you your reveal. I'd hoped it would be more dramatic." She looked down at the black case, the one with her own sign on it, the one with the Widowmaker logo. "How much?"

"A favour, that's all. Let's stay friends."

"I meant supply, but under the circumstances, the price is acceptable."

"Oh - I cleaned out the production lab, Made it look like a drug heist, a lot of it will appear on the black market, courtesy my old friends in Los Muertos. With proper care, you've got a year. But even better..." She flipped open the black case. "Separates. You've probably only seen the combined serum." She pointed to one set of vials, labelled in blue. "The components to keep your blood chemistry together, maintain your... unique... metabolic balance." She pointed to another set, in red. "The components to keep you _conditioned_ \- and compliant. Combine 'em one to one... or don't. Your call."

"...or don't..." said the Widowmaker, considering the implications. "...my call." She struggled, looking for the right word and not entirely finding it, "I feel a strange... confidence, in Kestrel."

"Confidence?"

"Yes. A bit like towards my handlers, originally, but different. Could I have been modified, without my knowledge?"

Sombra thought about that, and the disappointment, weighing them carefully before answering. "I don't think you'd be asking that question if you were. Could be your standard conditioning's trying to apply itself to new people."

"Can that happen?"

Sombra didn't know biowork, but she knew software, and she juggled what she understood of the Widowmaker protocol from that perspective. "Yeah, maybe, particularly if your old attachments were... violated... badly enough. A death warrant probably counts."

Widowmaker hummed, considering, uncertain, as Sombra closed the case. "Anyway, prep, care guide, synthesis instructions for more, it's all in there." She stood, picking up the case, and handed it to her friend. "And it's all yours."

"You realise," the assassin said, as she took the package, "I do not have to be the only one to leave, right now."

"Ah, you do care!" grinned the Mexican woman. "I can leave whenever I want, I'm just a contractor. But I'm not done with Talon, not yet - Akande should be breaking out of prison, soon, and if that happens, I'll learn all _kinds_ of new secrets."

The assassin nodded. "Consider it, nonetheless."

The hacker in purple smirked. "Why d'ya think this costs you a favour?"

Widowmaker snorted. "You _always_ want more _friends_ , big mouth. Why should I be different?"

"You know me so well!" chirped Sombra, pleased. "But this time, I actually do have something specific planned. For later."

The assassin nodded, once, looking at the case, and the rising light around her. "The sun will be up soon."

"Make sure to tell your gullible gal pals I was lying about the explosives. And good luck, chica... hard times are coming. Don't go soft on me. Or them." Then the hacker vanished, translocating away.

"That is always so disconcerting," said the assassin, to no one at all. She looked down the steep climb, back to Tracer and Kestrel looking up, out through the doorway. As she made her way down the trail, she found herself humming a tune she knew well, and yet could not name.

But she was pretty sure it had something to do with swans.


	4. Our North American Home from Home

"Well," said Emily, "Here we are. Our North American home from home."

She unlocked a grey metal box and threw a large physical switch found inside. Hallway lights lit, and the sound of a motor emanated from behind the walls. Tracer jinked up to the elevator at the end of the hall as its doors opened, and she checked the interior. "All clear!"

Widowmaker could feel the positive air pressure from the elevator shaft as she stepped over the threshold into the oversized car. "This is your safehouse?"

"One of 'em," Tracer replied. "It's ancient! Built during the Cold War, last century. Things go well, we'll end up back here on the regular."

Widowmaker frowned, sniffing at the air - it, at least, did not smell so antique. "It has been updated, I presume."

Kestrel laughed - "too right" - and Lena grinned. "We kept the architecture vintage, though. It's... somethin' to see."

"Does Overwatch know of this facility?" asked the assassin.

Lena tilted her head back and forth. "I might've mentioned it to Winston, but I didn't give directions. He's never been here. Officially, it's an investment."

The control panel's round hard plastic buttons shone black, with white letters reading M, G, OPEN, and CLOSE. Tracer stepped over in front, and pointed. "Right! Overloaded panel controls. M is this floor - mezzanine, right? G is the underground garage and storage for the aboveground house. The cover story is, it's supposed t'be a cargo elevator. And it is! It all works. OPEN and CLOSE are for the doors, like it says on the tin. But to get to the safehouse..." She punched a sequence of buttons - G and OPEN at the same time, M and OPEN at the same time, G, OPEN, CLOSE, OPEN and CLOSE, CLOSE.

On the final close, the doors shut in front of them, and the elevator started down.

"How far are we going?" asked the spider, looking about at the brushed metal walls as they slowly descended.

"Not too far - only about ten metres," said Kestrel. "As far as we can tell, the builders wanted a bomb shelter that'd do double duty as a guest house."

"Which is it more like ..." Widowmaker went silent as the doors opened upon a lawn. She stepped forward, onto the ground, looking up at the very low sky, or very high ceiling - depending, she supposed, upon one's point of view. To the left, a two-storey mid-century modern home, brown-tiled "roof" jutting into the "sky," the sky a ceiling from which artificial daylight shone evenly across the underground chamber. Around the outside of the "house" and "yard" stood concrete walls, covered in a mix of sculpted trees, murals of mountains, and artificial sky.

"Yeh - that was my reaction too," chirped Lena, with a grin.

"The friezes are... _hideous_. But the light, it is not terrible." She looked towards the building within the building. "It is a... they called it a split-level? They built a..." She shook her head. "C'est bizarre."

"The lighting's this good 'cause we replaced that bit," nodded Emily. "C'mon, it gets better." She stepped out of the elevator, onto the crazy-paving path. "And the house is nice."

\-----

Kestrel picked up a pleasantly modern control padd as soon as they stepped inside the front door. Holograms applied themselves over the mural and sculptures outside, rendering a far more naturalistic appearance. "Much better. We kept them, but... that doesn't mean we want to _look_ at them," she said, wryly.

Tracer jinked over and grabbed another padd. "Security system's up - no intruders, no alerts, water supply's good, HVAC normal, and best of all..." She pulled off her accelerator, popped it on a stand, and plugged it in for charge - turned _off_. "Ahhhhhhh. That's better."

"You do not have to wear it?" asked the Widowmaker, surprised.

"Whole house is an accelerator chamber, luv. 'Yard,' too. I'm free as a bird down here. Ironic, innit?" She shook her shoulders and stretched. "Hoo. So nice. I'm gonna bring up the network, see if Winston's answering yet," said continued, "an' check on home accounts. See if Overwatch's said anything to Interpol or th' like."

Emily nodded - "good idea" - as she opened first curtains, then a couple of windows - _why?_ thought Widowmaker - and she received her answer as a light breeze wafted through the living room.

"The illusion wasn't bad, even with the vintage kit." The ginger shook her head and smiled. "We improved it, though. We don't get to show it off, much - what do you think?"

Widowmaker slowly looked around. Century-old couches, chairs, table lamps, a sunken living room, a... dining room, a kitchen, a washroom visible down the hall, stairs leading to... bedrooms? Workrooms? She did not know. Outside the large windows, a... lawn. Artificial, but not terribly unconvincing. Trees, beyond, and low mountains in the distance that looked... almost... like...

She looked at Kestrel, confusion clear across her face, and tried to speak, but stumbled over words, and then stumbled over herself, and almost fell, before being caught by Emily, and then a moment later, Lena, who was a little less sure about how safe she was to touch. "Woah, woah, Widowmaker, woah, it's, um... what's wrong?"

The blue woman looked around, disoriented, dissociated, and the two Oxtons helped her to a couch. "Are you... my..." she said, to Emily, in a bit of a daze, "no, that can't be... could you... how much... is real? Are those curtains? Are they real? Please, close them?"

Lena dashed over to the curtains and triggered them to close. _Why are there curtains?_ thought the assassin. _This is..._ She blinked, slowly. Ah. A little better. She stood, suddenly, and walked up to feel them - real? Real.

She began walking around the living room, touching objects, rifle forgotten on the couch. Everything she saw that she could reach, she touched, and having touched it, moved on.

"All of this is real, luv," said Tracer.

"Most of it's vintage," added Kestrel. "The upholstery is new, and some pieces are re-creations. We had the money, so we wanted to preserve the..."

"...why would ... someone ... make this? Was... is this a conditioning facility?" She looked at the ginger, head tilted. "Are you my... handler? Are you?"

" _Oh my god_ ," said Emily, horror in her voice. "Is something about this part of how they work on you?" Lena looked at Emily, similarly shocked. "No! No, I swear!" the teleporter stressed. "It wasn't anything like that! It was just a bomb shelter built by some boffin with too much dosh. If bombs fell, they wanted t' ride it out in style."

"Widowmaker," interjected Emily, not yet moving, but tensed. "I think this is important. I am _not_ your handler. You are your _own_ handler. You have no handler other than yourself. Do you understand?" The sniper stopped briefly, and nodded, eyes just a little bit more focused. 

Emily walked up to the blue woman, carefully, who walked slowly around the main rooms, touching objects, making sure they felt the same as they looked. "Did that help? Do we need to leave? Do you need to be somewhere else? I swear to you, we did not know you'd have this reaction. This is just a ... strange old house. That's all it is. This is not a reconditioning environment of any kind," she repeated. "It's just a very well hidden safehouse." She looked over to Lena. "Love, turn off all the holograms, she was fine 'till then."

The upper windows, which had still shown the holographic sky, now showed mural instead, smooth light sheets with occasional chiaroscuro clouds. Widowmaker shook her head, and held her hands up to her eyes for a moment, covering them - then, she looked back to the room, and to Emily, beside her. "Thank you."

"Right then," said Emily, taking a deep breath and turning towards Lena. "We're relocating! Yukon? It's small, but it'll do for a day. Or, we'll need to refuel, but New Zealand should be..."

"No," said Widowmaker, grabbing Emily's hands. " _No._ _Thank you._ This will do nicely." She looked around the rooms, focus completely returned. "I... like this space. The upper level, there are sleeping facilities?"

"Yeh - and baths. Workroom, armoury, weights room below. But - you sure?" asked the teleporter. "You... kind of lost the plot there for a bit..."

"I'm still worried about this," interjected Emily, still feeling the other woman's cool blue hands in her own. "Do you want to talk about what you said? Are you... you?"

"No. Yes. Yes." Widowmaker looked back and forth between the two women. "You did not attempt to create any directives, when I entered maintenance mode - except to hand me to myself." She looked at Kestrel, before her. "I am... I am..." she blinked, trying to parse the feeling. "I am... grateful."

"We didn't know that was possible."

"That I could be grateful?"

Tracer snickered, and Emily said, "No, that you could be ... put in that state."

"It should not have been possible. There is... something, I think, in my system, still. Presumably from your doctor. But you did not try to take advantage of it. Thank you."

"She just told us about sedatives, that's all," insisted Emily. "We asked."

Widowmaker smirked. "It is possible she did not lie. Some sedatives have... relevant secondary properties."

Lena frowned. "Y'think she left somthin' out? Some details? _Intentionally?_ "

The blue woman nodded, considering. "Possibly. I have felt..." She looked to Emily again. "...easily trusting - of you both, but you in particular."

Emily's face twisted into a snarl. " _Dammit_ , Angela... you _did_ lie to me." She felt like hitting something, but... those hands. She looked back to Lena again. "We really should move on. Or - at very least, let's disable the hologram projectors. We can do that."

"No," said the assassin. "Turn them back on."

"What?" chorused the two Overwatch exiles, looking back towards the assassin.

"Turn them back on. If you can do this accidentally, Talon could do it on purpose. Open the curtains and reactivate the holograms."

Lena and Emily looked at each other, nervously. _Well_ , Emily thought, _the whole idea was she's a person, and people can make their own decisions..._ She shrugged an I-guess-so at Lena, who nodded, and the curtains opened and the holograms phased back to life, taking the artificial landscape from laughable to convincing.

Widowmaker's gaze remained focused this time, as she took in the projected vista. "It is... almost like the view from the Chateau's upper levels. No lake, more evergreens, taller mountains in the distance. But, in the foreground, not unlike... that."

"The chateau?"

"A family property of Amélie's, in France. Also, my home."

"You have a house?"

"A chateau," she stressed. "It's where I live. Talon knows of it, or I would've taken us there." The blue assassin smirked. "Did you think I lived in a barracks? Or that they... put me away, somewhere? Boxed me up, between missions?"

"Well," Lena coughed, a little embarrassed, "...kinda, yeh..." and the assassin... chuckled.

"That similarity good or bad, luv?" asked the teleporter. "Did they use that against... her?"

"I do not know," she said, and shook her head again. "This is foolish... no, it is not foolish. It is important." She turned to Emily, again. "For whatever reason, my conditioning has responded to you as my handler. I am trusting of you, but it has been years since any handler could truly control me. I demonstrated that by _killing_ my first - but I have no urge to kill _you_. Do you understand?"

"No," said Emily. "I do not. I - I don't want this. Can you ... undo it? Somehow?"

The blue assassin shook her head. "No. Not immediately. But that you do not want it makes me feel... secure." She thought about diving over to the couch, grabbing her rifle, and aiming it at Kestrel's forehead, just as a demonstration. She also flashed on embracing the woman, picking her up, running her fingers through her hair... and had no idea why. _I... could I do... that?_ she asked herself, not knowing which she meant, before deciding, yes, she could - and that therefore, there was no need, quite yet, to do either. Instead, she turned her golden-eyed gaze to Kestrel, eyes to eyes, and smiled, and for once, there was a breath - no more, but a breath - of truth in it.

"I will do everything in my power not to use this," Kestrel said, returning the blue woman's smile with solemnity. "If I do, on accident - tell me. Teach me how _not_ to use this."

"I will," whispered the assassin, lifting the hands she still held to her lips, kissing them lightly, sealing a vow. "I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The safehouse here is based on an actual underground bomb shelter and guest house I saw once, the primary difference being that the underground chamber is not as tall, and the house is a single storey. I suspect, but do not know, that the 1999 movie _Blast from the Past_ was inspired on the same safehouse.


	5. LENA WHAT THE HELL

D.va > LENA WHAT THE HELL?! Σ(ﾟДﾟ；≡；ﾟдﾟ)  
D.va > LENA  
D.va > LENA WHAT IS GOING ON TALKT O ME щ（ﾟДﾟщ）  
D.va > LENA  
D.va > LENA  
D.va > LENA DO NOT MAKE ME (ง'̀-‘́)ง YOU  
D.va > LENA  
D.va > LENA  
D.va > LENA  
D.va > LENA TALK TO MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE  
D.va > LENA  
D.va > LENA LENA  
D.va > LENA LENA LENA LENAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Tracer looked at the chat log - hundreds of lines of it, all more or less the same - from their Yukon safehouse, a room behind a little supplies store on the side of the Dempster Highway in the Yukon tundra, halfway between Dawson and nowhere. 23 hours a day of sunlight would make her even more hyperactive than usual, but it still paled before the unlimited energy force which was Hana Song.

She checked the time. _Well, it'll depend on where she is right now, I suppose..._ And then the text scrolled again, on its own.

D.VA > LENAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA TALK TO MEEEEEEEE  
Tracer > Hey, Deeves.  
D.va > LENA LENA LENA LE  
D.va > LENA!!!1  
Tracer > Hiya  
D.va > ARE YOU OK? DOES /╲/\╭ºoꍘoº╮/\╱\ HAVE YOU?! ARE! U! OK!  
Tracer> I'm fine. Kestrel's fine. Widowmaker is... as fine as she ever is.  
D.va > WHAT THE HELL?! DID U RLY RIP THE WALLS OFF OF MEDBAY?

Lena laughed, quietly. "Hey, Em, you impressed Hana!"

Emily leaned over and looked at Lena's screen. "...you're on chat? They didn't block your account?"

"This is Hana's personal server. She gave me a login there for when she's in Korea. Thought I'd check it, since Winston hasn't answered any of my messages." She'd hoped he would. He might've voted for deprogramming, but - like Tracer and Kestrel - he'd also argued that Widowmaker should at least have a voice in it.

"They've closed ranks, at least 'till they see what happens. I was afraid of that." Emily put her hand on Lena's shoulder, gently. "I'm sorry. But I still think he'll come 'round eventually."

"I gotta hope so."

Tracer > Nah  
D.va > ???!  
Tracer > That was Kestrel.  
D.va > (╬ಠ益ಠ) WHY?!  
Tracer > Because we made a promise and we meant it. For better or for worse.  
D.va > A promise? To whom?  
Tracer > Widowmaker. Don't you know about this?  
D.va > /╲/\╭ºoꍘoº╮/\╱\ KIDNAPPED YOU?!

Widowmaker saw Lena's sudden smile, and looked over onto her screen. "How does she type those character graphics so quickly? I... like that one."

"She doesn't," replied the teleporter. "At least, I don't think she does. She keeps 'em all in big text files, hundreds of 'em."

Tracer > No. We... you don't know about this at all, do you.  
D.va > NO I DON'T BUT YOU BETTER TELL ME RIGHT NOW  
Tracer > Kestrel and I ... we promised Widowmaker, a couple of months ago, in London, if she wanted to get away from Talon, we'd help her.  
D.va > ...OKAY  
Tracer > Part of that was, nobody's changing her again, not against her will. That includes Overwatch. We swore that wouldn't happen. Capturing her, that's one thing, doing to her what Talon did to Amélie, that's another. 'Cause she's a person, too, even if the doc don't think so.  
D.va > Okay...  
Tracer > D'ya see what I'm saying? We swore we wouldn't do to her what Talon did to Amélie... or let anybody else do it either.  
D.va > ...okay...  
Tracer > And Angie... didn't agree.  
D.va > ...oh  
Tracer > She said Widowmaker wasn't really a person, couldn't really consent or not consent, that the only way t'fix that was "reversing her conditioning," and so it wasn't the same thing.  
D.va > ...  
Tracer > Like she was on some kind of hallucinogen or drunk or something like that  
D.va > ᕙ(⇀‸↼#)ᕗ  
Tracer > but I'll be snookered if I can see a difference  
D.va > ...  
Tracer > since either way the person we made a promise wouldn't exist anymore once she was done.  
D.va > （・Ａ・）  
Tracer > so we stopped it. We kept our promise.  
Tracer > sorry about the mess.  
D.va > ...  
Tracer > It was kinda spur-of-the-moment.  
D.va > ...  
Tracer > We kinda figured, we talk Widowmaker out of Talon, we might have to quit Overwatch  
Tracer > We didn't really think we'd have to break her out. Not really.  
Tracer > But ... we did what we had to. I don't regret it.  
D.va > ...  
D.va > So... you're saying Angela was going to ... undo spiderfication ... and turn her back into Amélie?  
Tracer > Try to, anywya.  
Tracer > anyway  
D.va > But Widowmaker didn't agree to it.  
Tracer > If you were her... would you?  
D.va > ...  
D.va > ...  
D.va > ...no  
Tracer > So there y'are.  
Tracer > That's why.  
D.va > ...  
D.va > (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻  
D.va > WIDOWMAKER IS A MONSTER BUT tHAT's STILL NOT OKAY  
Tracer > Not even sure she's a monster  
Tracer > A killer, sure, that's all she's ever known  
Tracer > But you and me, we're both military, we both have death counts  
D.va > ...  
D.va > it's different  
Tracer > it is  
Tracer > but i can fight in a war and still oppose the death penalty  
Tracer > cause that's different too  
D.va > ...  
D.va > ...but you're okay.  
Tracer > Yeh.  
D.va > Kestrel's okay.  
Tracer > Yeh.  
D.va > Talon doesn't have you.  
Tracer > Heh - no. Talon's after us too.  
Tracer > but they don't know where we are  
Tracer > and they're mostly after Widowmaker anyway, they've always been after us  
Tracer > what's one more kill-on-sight order between friends?  
D.va > ...they want to kill the spider now?  
Tracer > Yep.  
Tracer > Don't trust her anymore.  
Tracer > If our intel's good, it came down from the top.  
D.va > ...  
D.va > Where are you?

The three of them had left the Oregon desert safehouse after a round of showers, the chance to enjoy some food outside of a moving vehicle, and a day of proper sleep. Widowmaker had even complimented their choice of mattresses, proving again that the spider had some interest in creature comforts.

There'd been no Interpol notice - or anything similar - about any of them yet, the key word being "yet." Nothing on Lena "Tracer" Oxton, or Emily "Kestrel" Oxton, or even anything new about Amélie "Widowmaker" Lacroix, or any combination thereof. Emily's current consulting contract with BAE hadn't even been voided; she still had access to their network. But the plan was to keep moving anyway, until they felt a little more comfortable about what Lena hoped, desperately, was an olive branch from their old team.

Tracer > Sorry, luv.  
D.va > ...  
D.va > ...I gotta think.  
D.va > You're not in ROK. You close?  
Tracer > Sorry, again, luv.  
D.va > meet me in Incheon?  
Tracer > ...  
Tracer > ...maybe. In a week. If things stay settled down.  
Tracer > Talking of, we gotta go.  
D.va > okay  
D.va > stay in tuch  
D.va > touch  
D.va > I wanna see you in person. I need to know you're you. I need to be sure. Incheon. Next week. You and Kestrel. Alone. Noooooooooooo spiders.  
Tracer > If we can. I'll check in... when I check in.  
D.va > k. let me know.  
Tracer > Bye

Lena dropped her way back through several anonymous VPNs and re-routers, and shut down the encrypted chat client. _Incheon_ , she thought. _Port city, easy to get to... it could work._

"Hey, Kes, Wids - y'want t'go out for Korean next week?"

Widowmaker looked across the table where she had just been shutting down her own communications array, reaching out to various specialised, no-questions-asked chemical synthesis specialists. "...you like Korean food?"

"I can take it or leave it, luv. But Hana Song sure does."

Kestrel looked over at her wife with a curious look. "...oh, really?"

Tracer shrugged at her wife. "Maybe."

"Brilliant. We could use some allies. And while you've been doing that - I've got your old contacts alerted that we're back in business, as freelancers. We'll need the money."

Widowmaker threw Kestrel a look of caution. "You aren't telling them about my particular skillset, I presume."

"Course not," she said, taking the blue woman's hand and squeezing it. "Not 'till you want in. Until then - well. I think of you as our ace in the hole."

The blue assassin wasn't entirely sure what to think of that, but she did think she found it satisfactory, and, possibly, just the tiniest bit pleasing.

"That," she said, with the hint of a spidery smile...

"...will do, for now."

\-----

"Winston," said Athena, a chime ringing behind the word. "Relevant activity detected."

Winston looked up from his console, where he had been re-reading Lena's messages, wanting so much to reply, but holding off until they knew where Tracer and Kestrel might be headed. The locations of several Talon weapons caches had been welcome, and gave some hints, but could just as easily be _bait_ , and they couldn't take the wrong kinds of chances.

"Thank you, Athena. Throw it down here?" 

It wasn't much, and it wasn't personal - but it was familiar. Lena Oxton had listed herself as available again for private security contracting work, under her old company name. Same terms as before he'd initiated the Overwatch recall, but higher rates, and the added services of an experienced flying operative - battlesuit included. 

He carefully checked over each version of the notice Athena had found. None mentioned sniper capabilities, and all carried the same sets of legality and indemnification conditions as before. She'd always played the game well above-board - and, at least in these listings, that had not changed. 

_I ... I pray this is real_ , he thought, allowing himself a hint of relief. _If it is, they won't be in Talon uniforms the next time we see them._ An image, a vision, flashed into his mind, of Lena Oxton, golden-eyed, blue-skinned, half-grin a sneer, leaning against her wife, Emily, silver-eyed, pale violet skin and purple and violet hair, tall, cold, and cruel. 

He shuddered, and put it out of his mind - _it won't happen_ \- as he forwarded Athena's findings to the rest of Overwatch. _We won't let it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to use that spider emoji for something forever. ^_^
> 
> This particular talon!Emily is as imagined in [Heartbreaker](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12549796), which is _not_ a happy story.


	6. the blind eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Thoughts in «chevron quotes» are translated from the Korean.]

_[Incheon, Republic of Korea]_

"Cor blimey," Lena said. "I wish she'd picked a more touristy part of town. We're too bloody conspicuous down here."

"You think you're conspicuous," her wife replied, "try being tall. At least I can check the layout."

The two of them - in carefully-chosen "hello, I am a confused European tourist" civilian clothes, with only Lena's bulky, accelerator-concealing jacket standing out in the July heat - made their way towards the front of a small restaurant in a busy commercial district not far from the industrial port.

Emily moved forward first, and looked sideways through the glass front window, spotting a small woman in very familiar colours and facepaint out of the corner of her eye, sitting in a booth near the back, facing away from the street. "I see her. She's... in her kit? Weird. But she's alone."

As Lena caught up to her, she heard a familiar voice quietly pipe up from behind. "N00bs," said the MEKA pilot, behind her, in perfectly ordinary business clothes. "That's my decoy. You gotta get good or you're in trouble. C'mon. This way. Right now, or it's off."

"Hana?" said the teleporter. "No. What's going on?"

"Come _on_ ," she repeated. "We're just going up the street. Things have changed. Follow me, or leave town, it's up to you."

Emily looked to Lena, uncertain, and her wife gave her a small shrug. "Like working for bloody MI6..." she whispered, following the woman they hoped was still their friend.

They followed her three blocks mostly east and two more blocks mostly north, settling into a booth in a nearly-identical business-worker restaurant, with nearly-identical booths. This one had a karaoke section, in back, but neither woman felt much like singing.

"What was that about, then?" asked Emily, as she and Lena slid into their side of the booth. Hana ordered a big pot of barley tea and naeng myun for everyone, and the waitress scooted off.

"Okay," said Hana, looking carefully at both of them. "We've got half an hour before the old school show up at the other restaurant. They don't want to grab you, but they want you to hand over the spider if you still have her. Do that, all's forgiven, you can come home."

"...you told them?" Lena said in a hiss, leaning forward.

"Bloody hell," breathed Emily. "It _was_ a trap."

"You're here, not there, aren't you? And it's not a trap, they just wanna make an offer. I'm on your side, I want you to know what's coming."

"An 'offer,'" said Emily, "while unarmed, surrounded, and outnumbered. That's not how you have friends over for chat." She covered her face with her hands, looking down. "They're making all the same bloody mistakes they made last time, aren't they? Of course they are. What next, bringing back Blackwatch?"

"Well, then," said Lena, as the tea arrived. "An offer. What's the sweetener supposed to be?"

"They'll hand la blue girl over to MI6, DGSE, or CIA as-is. Nooooooo hacks required."

Lena glared at the gamer. "That a joke, luv? MI6 and the French will shoot her on sight. CIA... probably the same. Why not the Hague? Why not the ICC?"

"We tried. The Hague and the ICC won't even touch her. You picked a _really_ unpopular spider to save."

"...yeh," conceded the teleporter, sipping at the unfamiliar tea. "I can see that."

"And the stick?" asked Emily, dreading the answer.

"No stick."

"No stick?"

"No stick. I don't like what they're doing, I _really_ don't like what Ziegler was doing... none of the younger crowd do, we won't stand for it. We've put our... foots? down? Feets down? Whatever."

"Right," said Lena. "Thanks, for that. You've worked out some kind of entente, then - that include what Ziegler's doing?"

"We're still working on it. It's a fight and I don't know who's winning, but everybody will be in the game."

Tracer shuddered. "Well... I hope you win."

The gamer sipped at her tea. "So if you won't hand spiderbitch over..."

"Not happening."

"Then the fallback is, we can still be friends, but there's rules."

"Go on," said the teleporter, as the waitress returned with their bowls of noodles.

"Noooooooo working for her old bosses. None. You work with them, at all, you're _all_ with them. We shoot on sight."

Emily snorted a laugh, but Lena frowned, angry. "I'm... gobsmacked. I can't believe they'd... after all we've done, they think we'd do that? The whole _point_ of this was getting her away from..."

"C'mon! You and your wife ripped the walls off medbay to free Talon's deadliest assassin. They don't think they can make assumptions anymore."

"Bloody wonderful," Tracer snapped, not wanting to admit they kind of had a point. "They _know_ why we..." She stopped, and shook her head - rearguing wouldn't change anything. "Fine. What else?"

"You're not Overwatch. No Overwatch logos, no Overwatch gear, don't raid Overwatch supply points, don't use Overwatch safehouses."

"Whatevs," Lena shrugged, dismissively.

"Not so whatevs," Emily said, overriding her wife. "Most of it, fair enough. But Overwatch is using _my_ antigrav tech, free of charge. We can let that go on - _if_ we can use empty safehouses when we need to."

"I can ask."

"It's one or the other. I don't want to get shot at by Overwatch agents in an Overwatch safehouse. If that's on the menu, I'm not eating."

"I can _ask_."

"Fine," interjected Tracer. "What else?"

"No team-ups with the spider when we're around. You're both out of Overwatch, but nbd, rite? Officially, you dropped out, nobody has to say why, you're fine, we're fine. We'll team up with you, we might even hire you - but not with her. Work with _her_ where we can see it, that makes you accomplices to a world-number-one terrorist, _bang_. We treat you like her."

Tracer grimaced. "Oh, that's funny coming from Morrison - sorry, 'Soldier: 76.' How's that supposed to be any different? He's a wanted criminal himself, and labelled a terrorist."

"That's not fair," Song replied. "She actually _is_ one."

"Was," interjected Kestrel.

" _Is_ ," insisted the gamer, "'til we know better."

"This is... PETRAS hasn't been repealed. Overwatch is just as illegal as everything else."

"Yeah," acknowledged the gamer, "but we get a pass. To a point. You don't. It's not fair, but that's the game."

"Unlike Overwatch, _I_ am a security contractor, operating _legally_ on six continents..." 

"Not if they know you've got the spider," Hana said in a little sing-song.

Lena sighed, frustrated. _And that_ , she thought, _is the stick._ "Fine," she said, tiredly. "What else?"

"That's it."

"You lot gonna be spyin' on us? Lookin' for a chance?"

"Nope. Blind eye. If we don't have to know, we won't know."

Lena nodded, and poked at the noodles. They didn't taste like much, but she couldn't tell whether that was the food, or the reality of the situation setting in. Even an amicable divorce was still a divorce, with all that implied - and this wasn't even all that amicable.

"There really wasn't a trap, was there?" Emily said, suddenly. "Or... was there? Is this the trap?" Kestrel looked around the restaurant. "Where's Ziegler?"

Tracer looked up at her wife. "Sweet?"

"Listen," said the flying agent.

Lena listened, and heard a soft, familiar ringing hum. "...oh. Fuck. I hear it too."

"What?" asked the gamer, already knowing the jig was up.

"Dammit, Hana - stop!"

Song put down her chopsticks. "I had to make sure you weren't under anybody's control!"

"When the bloody hell did we go missing for months?!" Kestrel demanded.

"You didn't, but I didn't know! Not for sure! I told Lena in chat - I _had_ to know! For sure!"

"We gonna get darts in the neck now?" Tracer's gaze darted around, looking for Ana Amari, not finding her.

"What's in this tea?" asked the ginger, glaring at her cup.

"Nothing! It's just barley tea! It's good! And no! It's... I brought Mercy in. She brought a big scanner. That's _it_."

"You trust Dr. Ziegler to tell you the truth here?"

"I... I think she's wrong. But she's not a liar and I couldn't get anyone else qualified. Not who'd keep a secret."

"Hana's telling the truth," said Angela, closing a padded door behind her, and walking up to their booth. "I was going to appear at the other restaurant, if you chose to negotiate, but - this saves the walk. Here I am."

"Doctor," said Emily, stiffly. "Who else is with us today?"

Hana scooted over, making room, and the medic sat next to the young MEKA pilot, ignoring the question. "Hana brought me in on this meeting yesterday. So that you know, I came here early to scan you for the sorts of things I... missed... with Amélie. I did not find them."

"Why the double-bluff?" asked Lena. "Why move us down here?"

"Karaoke booths," said the doctor.

"...soundproofing," Kestrel realised.

"Apparently, inadequate."

"I have _very_ good hearing," said the hawk.

"Amari and Morrison?" asked the teleporter.

"Ana and Jack are in Prague, at the moment, responding to rumours of a Talon action. They send their regards."

Emily let out a little heh at that. "No 'thanks' for removing Talon's best sniper from their arsenal?"

" _Is_ she removed?"

"Yes."

"But alive."

"'Course." She did not say, "luv."

"I will relay both of those."

Lena Oxton gave the doctor a sharply pointed look. "What if you'd decided we _had_ been... compromised?"

"Plug suit fits under regular clothes juuuuuuust fine." Hana pulled at her collar. "Hot, tho'."

The doctor smiled. "And you'll note - I haven't said anything about _Fareeha's_ location."

"That's not what I meant, mate," said the teleporter, grimly.

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "It would... depend."

"Would it, now?" asked Emily.

"Can you _honestly_ say you would not want me to undo the effects of Talon brainwashing upon you? _Truly?_  "

"Not if it meant just applying another round of brainwashing," Lena snapped. "It's one thing to get somebody detoxed, sure, that's fine. Therapy, that's great - I know from PTSD. But throwing your own _stamp_ on their brain - that's not 'undoing' a bloody thing, that's just changing the hands on the leash."

The doctor rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Lena, Emily, please, all of this has been ... far too much cloak and dagger. I apologise for that, but we did have to know. Can we stop this? Please? I am here to negotiate with you, not fight you."

"Sure, doc," said the flying agent. "Stop trying to turn people into other people, stop delivering ultimatums, stop repeating Overwatch's old mistakes, and we can all be besties again. Just tell me one thing."

"What?"

"Why'd you lie to us about your 'sedatives?'"

"I most certainly didn't!"

"'Sedative' doesn't imply 'made suggestible.' You'd already started your work, and you hid that from us."

"Oh," said the doctor, surprised, "you figured that out? I am... honestly, I am impressed. But I did not lie," she said emphatically. "I had _not_ started my work."

"Then why _that_ drug?" demanded the flying agent.

"Because you are both fools and I was giving you the best chance I could!" The field medic stood in the booth, hands on the tabletop, jarring the dishes. "Do you know how many of her bullets I have pulled out of our people? How many I have declared _dead_ by her hand? I did not want you cut down, these... mistakes... or not, and if you did something truly reckless, I wanted to make sure you had a chance of surviving the night." She looked back and forth between the two former Overwatch agents. "She is _not_ a person, she is a mechanism. A complex one, but a mechanism nonetheless. Give the correct set of orders, she kills, and you are on her kill list. But..." she said, slower, more thoughtfully, gesturing with her left hand, "I thought if she could be impressed upon you..."

" _Dammit_ , doc," Lena interrupted, quietly, " _You were wrong_."

"I am _not_ wrong, I..."

"She'd broken it herself. That's why she's never really tried to kill me, or Em. That's why Talon tried to kill _her_ ," Lena interrupted, again, rubbing her face with her hands. "That's how we know you're wrong."

The doctor blinked. "...what?"

"She wasn't supposed to get captured in Egypt," said Kestrel, picking up where Tracer left off, "she was supposed to _die_ there. She was subverting her own reconditioning, and they'd figured it out."

"That is impossible. I have recreated some of what they did, in simulators, to learn how to undo it. It cannot just be..."

"Oh for the love of... it _was_. She'd _done it_ , and Talon's termination order proves it. We were right. _I_ was right. You were wrong," said Emily. "None of this would've had to happen if you'd just _listened_ to me." She waved her hands around in the air by her head, wanting something to throw. "When you captured her, she was set to defect in a week. To us. In Prague, in fact. _Today_."

"Then the suggestibility ... did it...?"

"Make everything much harder? Yes. Thanks for that. Naught for two on those calls, Angie. Try not to go naught for three?"

Angela Ziegler sat back down, slowly. She looked at the tabletop, and at the teapot, and the noodles, and poured herself a little bit of the barley, sipping at it tentatively, in silence, for several moments. She bit her lip, put the small cup back down, and, eventually, said, "If it means anything to you... my 'three' is that neither of you show any sign of foreign neurochemical or neuromechanical influence on your brains. And I will report that back to Overwatch."

"Kinda figured that," replied Emily, slowly, "from the lack of shooting. That's one for three, then. Well done there."

"Hana," asked Lena, "how much of the rest was a lie?"

"None of it! 76 is pretty mad, Ana is _real_ mad, we're all kinda fruck out, but some of us are more sympathetic than others. Particularly Lúcio. Particularly me."

"So," Tracer said, sadly, "a velvet divorce. That's the real offer, then?"

"The rest of us want to stay friends, but from a team standpoint... pretty much."

"Balls," said Emily.

"What?"

"Balls! I'll take the deal, but it's shite, Hana, and you have the sense to know that. Angie, I don't think you do, you were this close to wiping away a person to replace her with your version of somebody else and it's pretty clear you haven't even budged on the ethics of that..."

"'Widowmaker' was dead, either way," Zigler interjected, angrily. "She almost certainly still will be soon, you might well join her, and you have just as certainly taken my only chance of returning Amélie to her own mind. If you want to argue _ethics_ , soldier, I am _more_ than ready to defend my position."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, then a longer one, and then, "I can't believe Winston is going along with this..." said Lena, shaking her head.

"He's... still of the opinion that Widowmaker should be convinced to go along with it," Angela disclaimed, acknowledging the difference.

"Good. It's not... it's not good enough. It's just not." said Lena. "But... good. And... we'll take your terms - it's not much different than we'd do anyway."

"I do not imagine the safehouse usage will be difficult to sell to the rest of the team. Particularly," said the doctor, sipping at her tea, "if you continue to forward useful information."

"Did you raid those caches?"

"No. But we will, now."

"Probably too late, we'd hoped you'd cover our tracks, but - thanks anyway, I guess. Hana, will you tell Winston - please, please, please, just _talk to me?_  "

"I will." She leaned forward, regret plain in her face. "I'm sorry. I had to know."

"Thanks, luv. I ... yeh. I guess I can see why." She took a deep breath, and let it out. "But if we're all done now," she said, standing, Emily just a moment behind, "we're going. Don't follow."

"We won't." Dr. Ziegler reached into her bag, and pulled out her commset. "Pharah, Mercy - Kestrel and Tracer are about to leave. We have an agreement. When they're out of range, come inside and... join us, for lunch. It's quite good. I'll give you the details in here."

As the two women walked by the table, Hana stood, saying, "Lena, please - talk to me on my chat again. Please! Okay? Please!" Then she watched as the two women left the restaurant without answering, her stomach now uninterested in the previously-delicious noodles.

 _«We did this wrong»_ , she thought, sitting back down in the booth. _«This wasn't how this should've gone.»_ She stole a glance as Fareeha walked up to Angela, helmet off, exchanging a brief kiss, and frowned. _«Now I just gotta figure out how to fix it.»_

\-----

Widowmaker watched Tracer and Kestrel depart the restaurant, and, seeing Pharah take no offensive action, lowered her rifle away from the kill shot. She moved to discreetly track her partners along street level, to their rented vehicle.

Her comm unit clicked on. "Widowmaker, Tracer here. We're out, and en route to rendezvous."

"Tracer, Widowmaker, acknowledged. I sighted Pharah, tracking you across the venue change. I told you we should've kept in full contact."

"You didn't engage, did you?"

"Of course not. But I was ready, if needed."

"Widowmaker, Kestrel here. Thanks, love. Glad you weren't needed out there. You heard everything?"

The sniper felt a little cold, thinking of the doctor's words. "I did. I... regret it did not go better."

"No one is happy, so it's probably as fair as we were gonna get. See you back at the ship."

"Acknowledged. Widowmaker out." She hummed, thoughtfully, as she engaged her chain, heading towards the meeting point. _It probably will not last_ , she thought, _but it is good enough, for now. If I can just convince our... friends... to join us, then we will have a real chance._ She smiled, for herself, and there was much more than just a breath of truth in it. _I **will** save us,_ she swore. _I will save us **all**._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This completes the first movement.


	7. what a good girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm as surprised as you, to be honest.

_[Late 2070]_

"Oh, nicely done. What a good girl!"

Widowmaker smiled, her head tilted, just a little, as she looked down the sight of her very, very long, very, very large rifle, at the blood splatter she'd made against the far floor, the body fallen beneath it, before being cleared away, by silent, jumpsuit-clad workers.

The tall woman behind her patted her head, and she smiled again.

"Are you ready for the next one?"

The young Widowmaker - only weeks old, at this point - nodded eagerly, golden eyes bright, reloading her rifle, and then, another figure ran, darting, across the wide, open floor below. She tracked, quickly, excitedly, firing, and missing, but close, just behind; she fired again, and missed as the figure jerked and she reacted, but too much, the bullet flying ahead.

"A little too much, dear. You've almost got it. Keep tracking."

"I'm so slow," she said, sadly, firing again, and just missing.

"No, no, no, dear. You're learning. And - well, we are going to speed you up again, soon. I know it's frustrating, but you're faster than you think. Try again."

The baby spider nodded, shooting the new figure down, and then, as another was thrown onto the floor, she instantly snapped over and shot them, a single round to the back of the head. Blood flew from both bodies.

"Very nice, young lady. Particularly the second shot. Note the artistry of the spray. _Beautiful_."

She shivered, happily, feeling, deeply, something she wasn't allowed to do, often, but which she was allowed, occasionally. When she was good. Particularly when she was _very_ good.

They released three prisoners onto the field at once. The first fell to the ground, holding their head in their arms, shaking, and she silenced them with a single shot to the top of the skull, whispering, "Pathetic." The other two she tracked, as they ran, missing one with one shot, growling a little in frustration...

"Stay with it, you can do it," she heard, from behind.

...until they ran together, for just a moment, and she took them both, with a single shot, as they crossed her sights, and she smiled again, allowed to feel.

" _Exquisite_ ," the voice behind her said, filled with pride. "What a good girl! I knew you could do it, _damhán alla_."

"Are there more?" she asked, excited, but then calmed, as she felt her emotions being shut down, again.

"No, not right now. I need to analyse these readings. Stand down."

The pale woman tinged in blue nodded, emotions again disabled, unloaded her rifle and set to its holder at her side, as she'd been trained to do. It disappeared, and for just a moment, she felt enough to feel sad, before she again felt nothing at all.

The red-haired woman lowered the force field surrounding the two of them and stepped forward, removing the sensors, one at a time, from her body, as she watched, disinterested. "We'll be introducing the next round of therapy once I've studied these results."

The blue-haired baby spider nodded, but said nothing, until a thought occurred, surprising her, and so, she voiced it. "Why do they take my rifle away?"

Dr. O'Deorain looked up, a little surprised at the initiative herself. "To analyse it, dear. The perfect spider should have a perfect weapon. Eventually, it will be tailored to you, exactly." She pulled the last of the sensors off the woman's body.

"Now, Lacroix - it's time to get you back on the treadmill. Get changed, and meet me there in ten minutes."

"Acknowledged."

\-----

_[present day]_

"Miss? I know it's none of my business, but..."

Widowmaker - _non_ , she thought, _Danielle Guillard_ , here - raised a single eyebrow at the older woman behind the counter. "Quoi? No, wait, I can guess."

"I really am sorry, I guess you must get it a lot... colloidal silver?"

_Mon dieu_ , she thought. _Lena avait raison._ "How did you know? My parents, my father, particularly - he was a, how do you say, 'big believer?' in all of that nonsense." She shook her head. "It was not my idea."

"I knew it," said the white-haired woman, tapping the countertop with her hand. "I had a great-uncle, out in Montana, went blue just about the same way. Argyria, they called it."

_Je doute que c'était la même chose_ , she thought. "Yes - I believe that is correct."

"Does it hurt?" asked the store's owner. "I never got to ask him, I only saw pictures."

"No," she smirked. "Though... the treatments to make it a deeper, more solid, even blue... those did."

"Well, they did a good job at least. It looks a lot better on you than it did on ol' Uncle Stan." She put the last of the items into the large cloth bag. "Thanks for stopping in again - you with Lena and Emily? Are we gonna be seeing you on the regular?"

"I am, in fact, working for them," she said, with a small and particularly enigmatic smile.

"How nice! I heard they were back in business."

"They never left the business. They simply had a long-term contract elsewhere, and it is over."

"Oh, I _see!_ I know it's all very hush-hush, some kind of military consulting, isn't it? So I won't ask. But is that where you met?"

The blue assassin considered the question, and found it amusing. "Yes. I was with a rival company, but they made a very good offer, and I accepted. The work is different, but I am... glad... I did."

"Well then," she said, putting the receipt atop the groceries. "Hope t'see you back again soon," she looked back at the register, "Dani?"

"I prefer Danielle. But - thank you," said the blue woman. "And it is likely you will." With that, and a small smile, as she picked up her bags and left the Shaniko general store, putting on her sunglasses, and stepping out into the late August heat.

Mary picked up her phone, and placed a call. As it rang, she smiled, and when it picked up - "Hello?" - she smiled to herself. "Sylvia, it's Mary, over at the store. I was right - it was colloidal silver, just like great-uncle Stan. Her parents' fault. And you owe me ten dollars."

"It's worth it," came the voice on the other end of the line - and just across town, at the ice cream parlour - "if you'll come over here and dish the whole story."

"I'll be right over."

\-----

Lena smiled at the first payment made to The Oxton Group since the Overwatch recall, from one of her old regulars, putting her back on retainer. Paperwork from four other former clients were en route. She'd explained the "non-compete agreement" that some members of her group had with those in the reformed Overwatch; it hadn't caused a moment of hesitation. _I don't like how it happened_ , she thought, leaning back in her chair, _but it's nice to have money coming back in, regardless_.

She saw the proximity alert fire, and the IFF with it identifying "Danielle Guillard"'s vehicle. Emily popped her head into the office, hair finally dry. "Is that Widowmaker, love?"

Lena nodded. "Yep! Just home. And walking into the elevator right now."

"Brilliant," she said, popping 'outside' to wait by the elevator, beating the doors by only a few seconds. "Hey, love - welcome home. Hoo, that's a lot of bags. How'd it go?"

Widowmaker nodded, and her eyes widened, and she jumped forward, wrapping Emily in a tight, tight hug, nuzzling into her neck, before shaking herself, and making herself let go. "I... I apologise. I have..."

Emily smiled, gently, and took Widowmaker's hand. "Love, it's fine, honestly. You can hug me like that whenever you want." The assassin had not discontinued her conditioning medications, but she'd lowered the dose back, just a bit, feeling her way forward as the enhancer in her bloodstream ebbed down, just the slightest, after the latest injection. "I did ... not have this problem, outside."

Kestrel nodded. _The strongest emotions..._ "It went well, then?"

"It did," Widowmaker said, picking up most of the bags. "It felt very strange to be doing such... ordinary things... as myself," she said, a little bit uncertain, almost a little bit confused. "Talon had staff for such tasks, and Amélie remembers the same for Overwatch, except at home, where they had..." She searched the previous woman's memories. "A person would deliver such things, I think."

"We're a bit far out for grocery delivery," Emily nodded. "But nothing upsetting?"

"No," Danielle said, with certainty.

"Hey, luv!" said Lena, appearing at the door. "Ooh, that's a lot, lemmie help." She jogged forward and picked up a few more of the bags. "We got paid!"

The blue assassin tilted her head, a puzzled expression across her face. "The clerk - Mary, is it? - asked about colloidal silver, just as you expected. How did you know?"

Emily laughed, and Lena rolled her eyes, grinning. "She's got about six repeating stories about her family, and her great-uncle or whatever is one of 'em. I'd've been surprised if she _didn't_ talk about it."

The three of them made their way back 'inside,' and Lena tore into bags, putting things away, until, "Ice cream! Brilliant." And she dove for a bowl and spoon.

"Will the payment you mentioned be followed up with an assignment?" inquired the assassin, one eyebrow raised, as she watched Lena eat.

"One of my Chinese clients wants me to fly out, look at a security system up close after I audit the plans," she said, between bites of ice cream. "But that won't be for a few months. It's retainer work, but it adds up."

"Don't worry too much about it," Emily said. "I've still got the BAE gig, that money's coming in just fine."

"I do not _worry_ about it," snorted the spider. "It has only been a few weeks, but I feel..." she said the word, with a hint of distaste, "idle, in ways I do not like."

"Does that mean you're wantin' to sign on?" Lena asked.

"I think it does."

"We'll need to keep it on the down low, y'realise."

Emily nodded. "Tight NDA wrappers, top-level clients only. Would that work for you?"

Widowmaker thought about it carefully. Her aim had not suffered, at least, not yet, from the reduced conditioning drug dose. Better training - better _use_ \- would serve her well. "Yes," she said, eventually. "I am conditioned to working in total secrecy - this would be more open than in my past. But I think it would work."

"Brilliant. I'll send some discreet notices out tonight."

Emily poked at her wife. "You gonna share that, or just eat the entire two litres yourself?"

"Oh!" She said, surprised. "Y'want some?" She teleported across to the kitchen, and grabbed two more bowls. "Wids, can you eat ice cream?"

"Yes," she said, pulling out the baguette she'd made that morning, herself, a bit of strong cheese, and the blackberry preserves, from the store. "But I prefer this."

"Y'sure? Have y'tried it?" she asked, scooping some out for Kestrel, topping it with a dusting of chocolate shavings.

"Have you tried this?" the Frenchwoman asked, archly.

"Y'offerin'?"

She tilted her head to one side, considering. The question hadn't crossed her mind, at least, not in any sort of conscious way. "I... think I am. Doesn't it.. mean something, to share food? I think it does."

"Yeah," Lena grinned, and put the rest of the ice cream away. "It does. I'd love to. Thanks!"

"Kest... Emily?"

Emily smiled. "Is there enough?"

"Of course."

"Then yeh, love. I would."

"It is best just cooled from oven, I think, but it has only been a couple of hours..." She tore off a pair of pieces, spread a little of the French-made raspberry preserves over the exposed white interior, and placed a piece of the strong Belgian goat cheese on each.

"You make something so simple seem so posh, did y'know that?" Emily said, and Lena laughed, just a little, agreeing.

The blue assassin shrugged in response. "It is how I do this." She handed each of the pieces off, one to each of her...

_...que sont-ils?_ she thought, to herself. _"Partenaires d'affaires" n'est pas la bonne réponse..._

The attachment she'd felt to Emily hadn't dimmed in the least, over the last few weeks. The trust she felt in Lena hadn't, either.

"Oh, this is nice, Blue," Emily said, eyes half-closed. "Sharp, and sweet..."

Tracer nodded. "Really good. Didn't imagine you'd be a baker, luv."

"I am not sure I imagined..." She thought, for a moment, looking down at her own portion, then looking over at Lena's and Emily's ice cream, waiting, still cold on the table. Her hand darted out, grabbed the spoon sitting in the bowl, took an outsized amount, and ate it, almost before she knew what she was doing.

Emily blinked, surprised, as Lena looked back and forth between the two of them. "Well," she said, a little nervously, "we did offer..."

"...I don't know why I did that," Widowmaker said, sounding a little confused, a little lost, but feeling... satisfied, somehow, that she'd done it. "I do not even like ice cream. Amélie did not, either. And I have never had ice cream, not since..."

_...depuis mon enfance? Je n'ai jamais été un enfant_ , she thought. _Pourquoi ai-je pensé ça?_

"Bits of your conditioning flaking off, like the hug, maybe?" Emily suggested.

_Bien sûr_ , she thought, as she nodded her agreement, and drank some of her water, and returned to her bread, and preserves, and cheese, which were familiar, which tasted...

...so much _better_.

She looked at her two rescuers, and nodded again. "I think so. I also think I should be _very_ careful in how I manage this... adjustment."

"PTSD survivor, luv," Lena said, offering a hand, across the table. "I know from mood swings. We'll take it slow."

The spider smiled, her head tilted, just a little, as she looked down at Lena's hand, which was joined by Emily's, and then, to her surprise, her own. "We will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No promises on a time for the next chapter, but I've never considered this work abandoned, and I've always known where this goes, so there's that.
> 
> People asked about Widowmaker's snack that she shared, in comments. ♥ I make it too. Here is a picture.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Ingredients (all three of them, lol) are in comments to this chapter, below.


End file.
